The Two Musketeers
by Ruthabellaaa
Summary: Three parter in which Dean gets in trouble and soon after Sammy gets caught out for copying his big brother idol...Spanking.
1. Chapter 1

Dean felt a sense of satisfaction as his fist connected with the boy before him's face. _'Serves you right, you little bitch," _he thought gleefully, rearing his hand back and busting the boy's nose before punching his jaw, watching with satisfaction as blood spurted from the wound his fist had made. _That was gonna hurt a bitch,_ Dean mused, feeling no remorse whatsoever.

Dimly he was aware of the crowd parting and a strong hand grabbing his arm, halting his attack on his classmate. "Dean Winchester. Let Markus go, **right now**!" The depute, Mr Corely, ordered strictly. Dean paused before looking at the teacher defiantly, "_No!_ He's a jerk! I'm gonna fuc-"

"_Mr Winchester_! That is enough. Regardless of what has happened, this behaviour is entirely unacceptable and will not be tolerated!" The teacher backed up this statement by forcibly removing the boy from Dean's grip, before taking Dean's arm and marching him through the cafeteria towards the Principal's office. When they arrived, Dean's teacher knocked briskly on the door before depositing Dean in the room after explaining to Mr Jimmison that Dean had given Markus Tawman a bust up nose and split lip because they'd been caught throwing paper aeroplanes and cheating in a test. "You may want to hear his side though; he certainly seems to believe he was justified…" Mr Corely announced taking his leave.

Dean suddenly realized where he was and groaned; Dad was going to kill him! So was mom for that matter… **Shit!** He turned to face the principal, preparing to explain himself, "Sir, I—"

"Dean. This school is very strict about fighting, and you know the rules. I know you do. We also have policies on cheating and passing notes. And the fact this all started because of some stupid dare at a party Dean? I am _so_ disappointed in you; you're a much better student than this. Do you have anything to say for yourself, son?"

"When you put it like that? No sir," Dean sighed, "I'm sorry. He deserved it though, but I'm sorry for causing hassle."

The teacher sighed. "I'm sure your father won't see it that way, but I'll leave that for you to discuss with him. Come on, let's get this over with. Bend over the desk, Mr Winchester." Dean gulped before complying slowly. "Because of the multitude and severity of your infractions, Dean, you're getting fifteen with the paddle."

The teen gasped. "Please sir, not so many…"

"Dean, what you did was foolish and immature, and you could have seriously hurt Mr Tawman. I'm afraid to say that you have earned every single swat." With that, Dean felt the paddle connect with his backside and winced as a warm fire spread over his backside. The Principal paddle him in silence, spacing out each swat to make it more effective. Dean felt tears slipping down his cheeks on the tenth swat, and by the time it ended, his breathing was hitching and irregular.

Mr Jimmison stood him up to standing and put an arm on his shoulder. "No more fighting or cheating, understood?" Dean nodded, wiping his tears away hastily.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll try to not let it happen again."

The teacher nodded and then sighed, "I still have to phone your parents to collect you though."

"Please, no…" Dean begged. "My parents'll _kill _me, and I'm meant to be going to a concert next Friday and Dad won't let me… _**Please**_?" Dean knew it was futile, but he couldn't help trying to preserve life as he knew it.

"Sorry, Dean. But because of school policy, I have to suspend you. I'll put in a good word with your parents,

but your suspended for the next two days. Come on while I phone. Your mother or father?"

Dean thought for a moment, "Mom." She'd be upset, sure, but she probably wouldn't spank him. And hey, maybe he could talk her round. After all, he'd just been paddled he thought with a wince, maybe she'd talk Dad out of spanking him… Doubtful.

The principal nodded and made the call, explaining the situation and upon hearing his Mary's promise that she would be there in fifteen minutes, sent Dean to wait at reception. Dean tried not to squirm as he sat on the plastic seating, and felt a sigh of relief when his Mom arrived. Until he saw her thunderous expression that was plastered firmly on her face… "Dean, get your things. We're leaving." She almost re-enacted his father's customary poppa bear growl perfectly. Aw damn.

The drive home was silent, despite the fifteen year-old's attempts to make conversation which were thwarted every time by his mother's simple, "Don't bother, Dean." When they arrived home, his mother sent him straight to his room, telling him that he could explain everything to his father when he got home that evening and that, aside from using the toilet, Dean was not to leave his room under any circumstances, or he'd have hell to pay. She finished her speech with three sharp slaps to his behind and he scampered, trying not to yelp at the pain it reignited.

Dean lay on his stomach on his bed for four hours before he heard the familiar sound of the impala pulling up in the driveway. _Shit._ He was _so dead_. For a moment, he considered making his crimes less serious, but he knew his mother would set his dad straight, and he was pretty sure Mr Jimmison had given her a handwritten note when they left about all Dean had done. _No, he wasn't getting out of this. And yet… His butt already stung something fierce, maybe his Dad would give him some respite… _

Dean began to panic when he heard his father's familiar tread on the staircase, and long before Dean was ready for it, there was a soft knock on the door, before it opened to reveal his father. Dean turned his head, which was resting on his folded arms on his bed, to look at his father, his eyes full of unshed tears.

John sighed at his son's forlorn look, and crossed the room to Dean's side, sitting on the bed and pulling the kid into a hug, "Hey… _Shhh_, it's alright, kid. What happened today? Are you okay? What happened at school? We can fix it, whatever's going on… Did someone hurt you?" John questioned concerned, confused by the blush that crept up to tinge his son's ears. Dean swallowed hard, keeping his eyes averted. John tried again, "Hey, buddy. I know about the fight. But, I want you to tell me exactly what happened for you to break the rules so seriously."

Dean sighed, he was so screwed. "I got suspended for two days for fighting with the fucking jerk, Markus Tawman today, he's got a bust up nose and split lip now… It was his fault though; he was making fun of Susie Lawson. Susie's this real sweet gal I know, who's been helping me with my work. She's dead beautiful, but she's brainy too, kinda like Sammy, so he thinks he can treat her like dirt. Anyway, he was kinda copying her in a test we had yesterday but being real nasty about it and I watched so I wouldn't accuse him wrong and he got us both caught, the **retard**! And I mean, she knows I copy her cause I just don't remember or understand stuff, he's just being a jerk though! And so I guess I kind of just got angry at him today when he called her a dense cow. I'm sorry, dad."

Dean had watched his father's facial expression become grim during the confession and John was silent for a moment, making Dean want to squirm. "First off, Dean. Get that language under control. You know you're not meant to swear, and since you were mouthing of at your depute head teacher today and swearing at him, this is your _**last**_ warning. Do it again, and you might just be meeting some soap kid. You got that?" Seeing his son's nod John continued, "I can understand you wanting to protect your friend, bud, I can. But fighting Dean? _Really?_ And in school? _Come on_. You're fists should _never _be the answer; there were plenty of teachers you could speak to. And as for the cheating? Why were you even cheating in the first place? You're a smart kid, and if you worked you could keep up with the work you get given. So, though I don't mind if she is tutoring you, you do not cheat by copying anyone, friend or not! Do you understand me?"

Dean tried not to let the tears fill his eyes as he murmured a quiet, "Yes sir." Utterly dejected.

"Okay then, you know the deal, Dean. You get in trouble at school, you get in trouble at home too. Because you got paddled, I'm going to spank you just now, kiddo. You're getting a bedtime spanking every night till your suspension's finished, and as of now, your bedtime is now half eight."

"What? But… _Da-aaad_!" Dean whined.

John glared at his son before continuing, "In addition to this, you're grounded for the next two weeks. That should be long enough for you to catch up on all the work you've not been doing or don't get. I will be taking your phone, and you will be doing the homework straight away when you get home from school. I will either check it when I arrive home from work, or your mother will check it, and when one of us has checked you're coping, then, and only then, you will be allowed to watch TV. However, I am also restricting you to a maximum of two hours television per day; the same applies to your use of the computer."

"But… **two weeks**? But Daddy, I have that concert next week… Please don't ground me!" Dean begged, distraught.

"Dean, you chose to not behave, and now you gotta suffer the consequences. You are grounded for two weeks, and that is final. If you're gonna keep fighting though, your bedtime can now be at eight for the next two nights. Then we'll go to half eight, and maybe after that we can change it back to your old bedtime, because this behaviour at school is not acceptable and your mom and I won't tolerate it, kid. Now, let's just get this over with so we can move on, okay?"

John beckoned his son over his lap, grimacing when Dean merely stood up unable to take the steps. He pulled his son to stand beside his legs, and pulled the fifteen year old over his lap, lowering his school trousers and underwear in the process, "Dad… _Please_…" Dean pleaded, tearfully.

"_Shhh_, I need to be able to see the damage so I don't really, really hurt you. I'm sorry, kid." With that John raised his hand and brought it down on his son's backside with a resounding slap, and his heart clench as his son flinched, the pain in his backside clearly already being reignited. He repeated the motion, smacking from side to side, holding back on the strength of the swats so as not to hurt Dean too much. He spanked in silence for a couple of minutes, soon able to tell that Dean was crying silently, his shoulders shaking with the effort to not sob out loud, and John moved his attention to Dean's sit spots and thighs, slapping them alternately. Dean's reaction was immediate and he wailed, squirming as the pain built up. "**Daa-ddy**! **Pleaase**! Please, I'm_ soo_ sorry!"

John landed fifteen slightly harder swats to his son's backside and stopped. Dean's backside wasn't especially red but underneath the slightly visible handprints, John could make out paddle shaped marks on his son's bottom. He sighed and rubbed the kid's back, encouraging him to calm down, "Hush, Deano. You're okay, it's okay, baby… Just calm down for me, I love you _so _much…" John rearranged his son's clothing and then pulled him up t his baby boy's lap, holding him close while he sniffled and whimpered until dinner was ready.

After dinner, John sent his son to get ready for bed and at half seven went to give Dean his bedtime spanking, feeling horrible for giving his son two spankings on an already sore behind. He held Dean until his son fell asleep before tucking the kid into bed and heading downstairs.

Dean's grounding passed without incident as Dean tried his hardest not to end up back in his dad's bad books again. His homework was becoming near immaculate, and he had been pointedly ignoring that Tawman basta… _idiot_ to the best of his ability. He'd hardly seen Susie 'cause he'd been coming straight home after school, and he couldn't text her cause Dad still had his phone, which was pretty shit. But he was over half way, _thank you_, very much, and so he contented himself with keeping his head down and counting down the days until he had some semblance of freedom.

"_Dean_! Get ready, we're going out. Come on, _quick_!" Dean got to his feet and headed to the kitchen, eyeing his father with confusion. "Out? I _thought_ I was _grounded._" He answered, more moodily than he intended.

"Dean, lose the attitude. Now, do as your told, young man, and get that backside upstairs and changed to go out, instead of those sweats, before I swat it up them stairs."

Dean gulped and ran up the stairs, throwing on his planned outfit for the concert he was no longer allowed to go tonight and sighed. Might as well go all out if Dad was making him get changed and presentable, he mused, loading himself with aftershave and fixing his hair. He was nearly sixteen, after all! He jogged back downstairs, "Ready, dad."

John nodded, "Good, let's go. I got a job to do, and you're coming with me 'cause you're Mom's taking Sammy to that kid's art show." Dean groaned at the mention of it and followed his dad out to the Impala. The first twenty minutes of the journey passed in silence before Dean started bitching about why couldn't he stay home and how the journey was taking ages and he didn't understand what the big deal was anyway.

"Kid, if you don't can it, I am going to stop this car and give you a few swats before I turn this car around and drive us straight back home where you can spend your night in the corner considering your little tantrum here." Dean shut up immediately.

The ride passed in silence after that and John looked over at his son, noting he had dosed off from the gentle movements of the car. Eventually the car stopped and Dean opened his eyes and looked at his father in confusion. "Dad, why have we stopped? Where are we? I don't get why…" His son trailed off as he realised where they were.

"I spoke to your Momma, and we agreed that because you've been behaving so well the last couple of weeks, and because I know how desperate you were to be at this tonight, we'd let you get your ticket back and come along. You got any money with you?" Dean shook his head, still totally in confused shock. "Here," John pulled out forty. "That should be more than enough, in case anything goes wrong, but you shouldn't need to be spending it. I guess you can get something from merch though, understood?" His son nodded, subdued and yet excited. "Right, go have fun. I'll pick you up here when the gig finishes, okay?"

Dean finally found his voice as he jumped out the car, "Thanks so much, Dad! I won't let you down!"

"Wait! Here's your phone, I'm taking it back at the end of tonight for the remainder of your grounding. And _no drinking_, young man. Now, go!"

"I won't, Dad! I promise" Dean grinned at his dad, before running elatedly into the queue for the gig after spotting his friends. John watched him go with a fond smile, waving before driving off to find a movie to go see while he waited for the gig to finish, hoping his son would stay out of trouble for a whole night without any supervision…


	2. Chapter 2

The aftermath (Part 2 of Dean; the fighter!)

Dean bounded off into the crowd, dialling Susan's number as he went. "Hey! Yeah, I'm here! My dad surprised me by letting me come! Where are you?" After receiving directions from Susan and their friends, he ran through the crowd trying to find them. Soon though, he discovered that, in actual fact, it's really difficult to find people in a crowd of four thousand people when the sun's setting. This was, after all, his first ever gig, not to mention with out his dad thank you, and he wasn't exactly experienced at gigging!

As he wandered aimlessly around the grounds of the venue, Dean heard the music of the first support act start up at the main-stage. The concert was outdoors, and though Switchfoot were the big band playing that night, there were four support acts starting at about five o'clock onwards; Anberlin, Toby Mac, Counting Crows and 30 seconds to Mars were playing before Switchfoot were scheduled to come on. He groaned but turned his attention to the main stage, and starting making his way towards the stage, hoping to find his friends in the process. But of course, he had no such luck. Susan and Tommy and Ryan and the others weren't picking up their damn phones! "Shit!" Dean cursed. At that moment a man in his mid to late twenties turned to Dean, "Hey man, is something wrong?"

"Nothing… I just, I can find my friends…" Dean huffed. The guy's answer was to pat his shoulder and offer to get him a drink.

"Sure, uh… Thanks." Dean smiled brightly when the guy returned with a coke and found himself relaxing as he drank it. He found himself jumping with the ground and swaying and talking to the guy he'd met, not noticing until it was far too late that he was drunk. In fact, it was until the end of the gig that he realized, as he was finishing a can of beer that Luke, his newfound friend had given him. _Shit_. He was _so_ dead. He didn't even mean it! Oh man… **Fuck, fuck, fuck**. Suddenly, he didn't feel so good, and he turned to his friend, "I gotta go, sorry man! I just need a shirt from merch and then I gotta get home… I…" He slurred, staggering to merch and buying the souvenirs he wanted before calling a cab to Uncle Bobby's who he knew lived nearby.

As the cab pulled up at Bobby's, Dean shook his head trying to clear it. He'd fought the urge to throw up or pass out for the whole ten minutes of the journey and he paid quickly, trying to stagger to the family friend's front door but fell on the way, and was barely aware of the taxi driver getting out and helping him up, leading him to the front door, "C'mon kid. You're alright…"

The door opened before they arrived and Bobby rushed out, "Dean? What the hell? You okay, kid?" He turned to the cabbie, "What happened to him? Where was he? Do his parents know he's here?" At the mention of his parents, Dean whimpered, tears filling his eyes. "Uncle Bobby, I didn't mean it honest… I was trying to be good! I didn't… Dad's gonna _kill_ me… What am I gonna do?" He wailed.

Bobby turned to the cabbie, "Thanks for getting him here safe. I'll deal with it from here." The Cab driver took his leave and Bobby assisted his adopted nephew into his home. "You called yer Dad yet, kid?" Dean shook his head tearfully. Bobby nodded with a grimace, "Okay, let's get that done before the whole state's in an uproar."

Meanwhile, John hit the steering wheel in frustration, Poppa Bear mode overtaking him. _Damnit_! That kid was _so dead_ when he found him. John paled as another thought hit him: what if he didn't find the kid? "Dean…" He growled. "You better answer your damn phone or appear form this crowd by half eleven or I swear you won't know what's going down when I find you… Please, be safe…" He returned to his driving around the streets looking for his son, before returning to the venue which was emptying out now, heading into the crowd to find his baby boy.

The search came up fruitless and he returned to the car frustrated, slamming the door shut when he climbed in. He was running out of places to search now, damnit. And how was he going to tell Mary? Oh God, what was he going to tell Sammy? Sammy who practically worshipped his big brother, his hero? Sammy wouldn't survive if Dean went missing; not that he or Mary would, but still.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Where was he? And anyway, what kind of a damn terrible father lost his child? Why did he let him go to such a big concert himself anyway? People did things at big events like this where no one would know; he had _no hope_ of finding Dean if something had happened! He…

_Ring Ring. _

John answered on the second ring, "Winchester."

"John?" Bobby responded gruffly on the other end of the line. "I have your kid here…"

"Dean? Why? Is he okay? What happened?"

"Calm it, man. Look, he's fine. Well, nearly fine. He came over here in a taxi, not that long ago… I, uh, I'll put him on to you now before you start panicking…" Bobby sounded almost nervous as he finished but before he could question his friend, he heard a timid voice on the line.

"Daddy?"

"**Dean**! Oh my, are you okay? What's going on?"

"I… **I'm sorry**! I didn't mean it… I swear… Daddy, please don't hate me!" Dean cried down the phone.

"_Hey, hey, hey_! Calm down… What's going on? Dean?" Dean didn't say anything, but John heard the distinct sound of his child whimpering and forced his voice to become sterner, "Dean Matthew Winchester, what is going on? I'm coming to get you right now. I want you to pass me back to Bobby, young man, okay?"

Bobby reappeared on the phone, "How fucking drunk is he, Bobby?"

"Uh… Drunk enough? Give him a chance to explain, John. He's more distressed than I think I have ever seen 'im. I don't think he meant to drink any alcohol at all. Just get here fast, baby bear needs you."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of…" John muttered, "Give me ten minutes. And give him some food. And calm him down… Y'know, the usual stuff."

John raced along the highway for the ten minute journey to his friend's home and stopped outside the house, barely putting the car out of gear before he ripped the door open and slammed it shut, locking the car even as he sprinted towards the house. He dropped to his knees and opened his arms wide as his son barrelled into him, and John stood, easily holding Dean safe in his arms, "_Shhh_, baby… I got you, Daddy's got you, you're safe… Deep breaths, it's alright. Daddy's gonna make it all better, Ace. Calm down for me, Champ…" John soothed quietly, knowing from experience how scary the first time of being drunk was. He rocked his son for a few moments, savouring the weight in his arms before turning to Bobby, "Thanks so much for looking after him, Bobby… I owe you."

"Nah, you don't… I'm just glad the damn fool's okay." Bobby shot back. "Get him home to bed, John. It's _way_ past his bedtime, he needs his Daddy and he needs his sleep. There'll be plenty of time to talk to him tomorrow." John nodded and patted Dean's back.

"Say goodnight to Bobby, Dean. I'm sure you'll see him again soon."

"Night, Uncle Bobby… And thanks." Dean spoke to his Uncle quietly as he blushed, and John nodded approvingly before heading out the door.

"Night, Bobby."

John lifted Dean into the car and buckled him in before driving them both home in silence. Dean fell asleep within a few moments of getting into the car, snoring lightly, and John sighed. Tomorrow wasn't going to be fun, for either of them. "Oh Dean, what'm I gonna do with you?" He murmured. He had the music on the radio playing quietly, and he phoned his wife quickly, "Hey Mar. I'm on my way home with Dean; he's kind of, uh, drunk. Yeah, I know. Mmhmm, okay. Right, yepp. I know. How was the art showing? Sammy behave? **No**? Oh for _goodness'_ sake… Right, uhuh. Yeah, okay, yes… Hmm… Oh, really? Right, yepp… I'll speak to him about that in the morning, yes. Yeah, honey. I love you too. I'll speak to you soon, okay, yepp, bye." He looked over at his sleeping son and sighed; tomorrow was definitely _not_ going to be fun.

Dean woke up feeling like shit and groaned. "_Oh god_... What's wrong with me?" He blinked at how bright the room was and dropped back onto his bed, fighting the urge to be sick all over the floor.

"Morning, honey… Here's a bucket… You got drunk last night, so you're hungover this morning. Dad's gonna come speak to you when you're feeling a bit better, he's just talking to your brother just now. Drink some water baby, _shhh_…" His mom patted his air soothingly and held him after he'd thrown up the contents of what he'd drunk last night and soothed him, sighing when he finally fell back to sleep before cleaning out the bucket and putting it back in place by his bed. She then shut the bedroom door and went in search of her husband and youngest, listening out for signs of their '_chat'_ before heading downstairs to start making brunch.

John stepped into his son's room and sat down on the bed beside his son who was staring at his hands nervously. Dean had come down for brunch and John had sent him back upstairs to his room after they'd eaten, waiting fifteen minutes before going up to deal with Dean's adventure the night before. He listened as Dean told him about Luke and how his drink Cola had been spiked and how he didn't know he was drunk until it was too late and the room was spinning and how horrible it had felt and he'd just wanted to go straight to Bobby's to get away from the alcohol. John grimaced, but nodded, completely understanding. "Let's get this over with then, buddy…" He responded, pulling Dean over his lap. He lowered his son's pajamas and underwear and began spanking him, surprised that Dean cried out from the onslaught. After a few minutes of solid spanking, John lifted the wooden spoon he'd brought into the room with him, and spanked Dean hard for another two minutes, trying to steel his heart against his son's wails and pleas. He landed eighteen hard swats to his sit spots and thighs before putting the spoon down and resting his hand on Dean's hot, glowing backside. "_No more_ drinking, Dean. You _don't_ let strangers get you drinks, and you _don't _drink beer until you're legally allowed. Do you understand me, young man? At Dean's nod, he continued, "Clearly, you can't be trusted to be responsible, buddy, so you'll be getting some more early nights, along with bedtime spankings, for the number of nights matching the number of bands you allowed that guy to let get you to drink through. Because you at least went straight to Uncle Bobby's when you realized, I'm not going to ground you. But we're gonna have to work on this trust thing, buddy, cause it's gonna take a while for you to manage to earn mine back." At these words, Dean broke down and began to shake with deep sobs. John couldn't bring himself to lecture further, so landed the last fifteen swats with his hand to Dean's burning posterior before stopping. "Never again, kid. _Never_ again…" John lifted his baby to his arms and rocked him, replacing the pajamas and holding him tight to soothe him. After fifteen minutes of Dean's tears with no respite, John began to worry.

"Hey, _shhh_…" He murmured, "You gotta calm down, buddy. What's wrong?"

"_**You… you… You can't trust me anymore… Puh-leeaaase doh-n… doh-nt hate mee! I don't want you to n…n…not t-tru-truhst me anymohh—mohr!"**_ Dean sobbed, distraught.

"Hey now, calm down… We can fix this now, buddy. It's all over and done with, and we can fix this now… You gotta take big breaths for me, Champ… We can work at this trust thing now, Dean… I want to be able to trust you again, you just got to prove to me that my trust's not misplaced, you get me?"

Dean nodded, quieting down as he snuggled into his dad's broad, safe chest. Sure, that sounded reasonable. Maybe his Dad didn't trust him right now, but he'd prove it to him, he could show him and Mom how much they could trust him, and how he could be the bets big brother ever to Sammy, and he told his dad as much.

"_Daddy_?" Dean whispered tearfully, as he sniffled, getting snot on his Dad's flannel shirt.

"Yeah, sport?" John murmured in response, hoping his son wouldn't distress himself again.

"I'm gonna do it, Daddy… I'm gonna be the bestest big brother ever again, so Sammy can trust me to keep him safe! And I'm gonna show you and Mom… I'm gonna prove it. I promise… I'll prove you can… tru… m…" Dean explained sleepily, trailing off as sleep once again found him; within the safety and protection of his Daddy's broad chest and strong arms.

"_I know you will, Champ_." John smiled, kissing his son's brow affectionately, _"I know you will."_

The end! :)


	3. Chapter 3

John Winchester quietly opened the door to his youngest son's bedroom and looked in on his little boy. Sam was facing away from his, but John could tell he wasn't asleep but only faking it and sighed inwardly. He wanted nothing more than to leave the room again and forget this whole mess, or to at least put off the hassle of dealing with it until later on. But, John reasoned with himself, if I don't deal with Sammy's shit now, he'll just keep at it and know he can get away with being rude to his mother and me. Resolved, John leaned against the door frame and folded his arms firmly, waiting with eyebrows raised. He didn't say anything as Sammy continued to pretend he was asleep, knowing from his experience that his recently turned eleven year old son was applying the logic that if Sammy couldn't see him then he couldn't possibly be in the room about to roast his ass, struggling not to smile affectionately when he saw Sammy squirm under the covers. He waited a moment longer then spoke quietly, "I know you're awake, buddy." Suddenly Sam froze, burrowing deeper into his bed before John heard the muffled, "No you don't because I'm not…"

John actually laughed at that, "Nice try, Samuel… Come on, we need to talk, buddy. Up you get…"

"But Da-aady…" Sam pouted. "It's only…" He looked at the bedside table clock… "Oh, well, nine, but still…"

"But still nothin'. Your Momma put you to bed at nine last night, Sammy, I'm sure you've slept plenty. Now, think you could tell me why your Mother had to take you out of that art exhibit you were desperate to see so badly because you spat on one of the paintings before announcing that "it was the most hideous piece of shit" you'd ever seen and a blind cat could do better? What the heck, Samuel? And why, you took a complete tantrum and told your mother to 'kiss your ass?' Why you then damaged the cars interior? And why you then directly disobeyed your mother when you got home? Because I _know _you know better than to disrespect your mother, young man." He asked his son, levelling him with a firm stare, raised brow and deceptively calm voice.

Sammy paled. He recognized that voice, and it was not good. He didn't want to tell his Daddy why he'd been so naughty, but he knew the punishment for being naughty in their house. "Daaaadd…" He trailed off at the look on his Dad's face.

"No. Samuel David Winchester, you have till the count of three to tell me or you're going over my knee for a spanking before the spanking you're getting for acting up so badly for your mother."

"B..but! DAD! That's not—"

"One."

Sam stayed silent, frozen to the spot, his eyes wide in shock that his dad was actually counting, but John didn't relent and instead forced himself to harden his heart. "Two…"

"But DAD! Okay, okay, I'll tell you… Just please, no counting! I hate it when you count! Daddy, please stop counting—"

"Three. I warned you… You're now past a hand spanking, kid. Which, by the way, you were lucky to be getting the option of only a hand spanking anyway. This behaviour will be stopping today, little boy, or there will be some serious consequences for naughty boys who's attitudes are terrible." John told his son gruffly, pulling the boy out of his bed and landing twenty five firm swats to his son's pajama clad bottom and sit spots, followed by appropriate wails and tears from his son at being chastised like a toddler. John turned his son back to face him, before taking a seat on Sammy's bed with his son standing between his spread legs, holding his wrist tightly and forcing the child to look at him, complete with flushed, rosy cheeks. "Do I have to go everywhere with you so that I can make sure you behave? Is that it, Sammy? Can I not trust you to be a big boy and behave? Your Mom was so upset on the phone, young man, so upset! I know you love her, and I damn well know that you didn't want to hurt her, so why did you behave so badly?" Sammy looked down as tears spilled down his cheeks, and John inwardly grimaced, realising this was far more complicated than he thought. He knew that the best way to get Sam to tell him was to push his son into losing his temper and dealing with it all afterwards. He took a deep breath, "Samuel. Are you gonna tell me? Or do I just gotta keep you on a really tight leash 'cause I can't trust you to act like a ten year old?"

As expected, the kid lost it to his tears. "NO! Dad! It's not like that! You can fucking trust me! I only did it because I knew you and mum wouldn't care because all you care about is Dean's fighting and his concert! You both wanted to take him to his concert, I heard you and Mom talking about it! You weren't going to take me, and she didn't want to, because I'm just the baby of the family who's too young to do things and can't get anything right because I'm not as good a son as Dean! I'm not as cool, or fun, and I don't have as many friends, and I'm just an embarrassment of a son and you'd be so much fucking better without me!" He shouted, stamping his foot and yanking his arm away from his Dad as hard as he could. Or rather, trying to.

John felt his son try to yank his arm out of his grip, and immediately applied more strength, tightening his hold on the boy. Wow, he didn't see that one coming… _Shit_. "Cut it out, Samuel. You're not going anywhere right now. First off, where did you learn words like that? If I hear those words coming out your mouth again, you're gonna get your mouth cleaned with soap. Understood?" At his son's small nod, he continued, "What you just said is complete nonsense! I do not love you any less than Dean! I know I've been focusing on him a lot lately but he was in trouble, and I was trying to get his behaviour sorted so he's been on a tight leash until he sorts his behaviour out. Your mother and I weren't trying to avoid taking you to your exhibit, baby, we were all going to go today, as a family, so we could both take you. But you insisted it had to be last night, so we wanted to do what you were wanting! If you'd wanted me to go, you should have told me Sammy… I would have been happy to come with you so you could show me round… I do not care about you less, or love you less than your brother, young man, you got that?" Sammy's eyes went wide and he gulped, which John took as a yes. "Good, because if I ever hear you say that, you're gonna get a bare bottom spanking that will make sitting down sore for weeks till you realise and remember that I love you more than life itself, Sam! You matter so much to me, and I care about you so much, my sweet, sweet baby boy! And you better listen and listen good, Sammy boy. Don't you ever think that you're not good enough, or funny enough, or smart enough, or cool enough for anybody! You got me? You are perfect exactly the way you are and I couldn't choose a better son if I was given the option! But if you ever and I mean ever tell me that I would be better without you ever again, I will spank you at the time that you say it and then give you bedtime spanking with a hairbrush for a week. Do you understand me?" Sam nodded, looking torn between blushing and going ashen white. "I said, do you understand me?" John repeated more firmly.

"Yes, dad."

"Okay then. And Sam? I am so sorry, buddy, if you felt like I wasn't spending time with you or that I don't love you as much as your brother or I didn't give you enough attention; that was never my intention. I'll try harder to spend quality time with you, kid, just you and me again. Can you forgive me?"

Even as he finished his question, John felt his son throw himself into his dad's arms, clinging on tightly and nodding furiously as his tears poured down to soak John's flannel shirt. John rocked his son automatically, soothing him and petting his hair as his quiet words washed over the little boy, immediately calming him. They stayed this way for fifteen minutes, John whispering quiet assurances to his son as Sam lapped up the comfort, crying softly as his dad rubbed his back, promising that he loved him and was so proud of him he was. Eventually Sammy was calm, and John leaned Sam back to look at him with love in his eyes, "Better?" Sam nodded, biting his lips with his eyes like glassy saucers. "Come on then, we still have to deal with you being naughty last night…" John pulled Sammy over his lap, getting rid of the pajamas and superman briefs before lifting his hand and spanking his son in earnest. He swatted at a reasonable strength, not beyond what his son could handle, flicking his wrist to make the pain sharper so he could speed the punishment up. Sammy was always vocal when being spanked and he squirmed and wriggle away from his dad's strong arm but John held him firm. After five minutes of heating up his son's behind, John moved onto his son's sit spots and thighs, increasing his tempo slightly causing Sam to wail before long.

"Samuel, when you don't like something, you speak to your mother and me about it. You don't act out for attention, and you certainly don't spit! Especially not on something that someone has worked very hard to accomplish! It is rude and disrespectful! You never use language like that when talking to your mother, or anyone else for that matter. And you do not announce someone's work terrible just because you are in a tantrum! If we have to talk about any of this again, you will not like the consequences of a certain angry dad. And if I ever see you misbehaving in public like that again, rest assured that I will bare your bottom wherever we are and spank your backside until it is glowing like the sun and you are the most repentant little boy in town. Do I make myself clear?"

"OW! Y-yes, DA-AAAH-AADY!"

John nodded, "Last ten, Sammy boy…" he encouraged the boy, landing ten blistering spots to his son's backside and sit spots. Sammy screeched at them, and John swept him into his arms, soothing his baby with an urgency he hadn't felt in a long time. Sammy clung to his dad once more, sobbing apologies, his sore bottom suspended off his Daddy's lap as he cried into John's shoulder. John continued to murmur soft assurances to his son, watching as his son slowly calmed down. Sammy looked up at him past his bangs, his thumb finding its way into his mouth as he stared up at his daddy, his cheeky flushed as he sniffled occasionally and hiccupped. "Better. It's all done now, okay? No more of this behaviour, or I'll be more strict on you next time and your butt is gonna hurt a lot. Now, I want you to stay in your room for now and work on an apology letter for the artist who you upset last night by insulting their work and vandalising it. And when you're done, you and me will go and give it to them at the Art Gallery, so that I can assure them you've learned your lesson and will never do anything like this again. Go on, buddy." He ruffled his son's hair.

"Do I gotta sit at my desk?" His son asked pitifully.

John considered his son's question, "Not this time, I guess. It's been a long morning… But if this ever happens again, then yes. Today, I guess you can lie on the floor to do it. So long as you do it, okay? And…" John paused, flashing his son a grin and winking, "I guess, if you're up for it of course, when you're finished and we've given that letter to Miss Jenson, we could go grab some ice cream; just you and me. How does that sound?"

His heart soared as his son grinned, "Yeah!"

"Okay then…" John handed paper and a pen to his son and stood up as Sammy lay on the floor, "As long as you get that letter done. I'll be back to check on you in a bit." He smiled at the boy before him, ruffling his hair before leaving the room to head downstairs. Sam beamed and set to work on the task his dad had given him, even as he rubbed his stinging backside, the prospect of spending quality time with his Daddy enough to brighten his mood and dull the pain to a throbbing; even if it did only dull it a bit!

Sammy grinned as he finished his letter, knowing that he was getting to spend time with his Daddy this afternoon now that he was finished. "Daaaa-dddy!" He yelled with a smile, hoping to speed up the process and grinning gloriously as he heard his dad's footsteps on the stairs.

He waited as John read the letter before his Dad looked up with a nod, smiling affectionately at his son. "Well done, buddy. I'm proud of you. Let's go get this done…" John suggested, pulling his little boy in for a big hug. Sammy returned the hug with a smile and a nod with a murmured, "In a minute…" as he fought to stop his heart from exploding at his Daddy's praise.


End file.
